


Maneater

by syntheticvision



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Eventual Sub Ransom, Ex-Felon, F/M, Insults, Language, Rich People Things, Spoiled Ransom Drysdale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: Fresh out of prison, Ransom Drysdale gets a taste of his own medicine when he meets his female playboy counterpart.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warm-up chapter as we begin.
> 
> As always, I will update the tags as we move along.

“Well, that was a first,” you purr with a short smile, buttoning up your blouse with nimble fingers. “Sex with a felon. I get to cross that off my list.”

“Ex-felon,” Ransom corrects you with a hint of annoyance in his voice, eyes like daggers in your direction while you daintily lift a foot to slip on your Jimmy Choo heel. Sweat glistens on his chest while you steady yourself and smooth down your shirt.

“Whatever,” you brush off, tossing back your head to give him a smirk. “Thanks for the ride.”

Ransom returns your smugness, his gaze on you while you grab your purse.

“See you around,” Ransom calls out, stacking his hands behind his head as he leans up against the headboard.

“We’ll see,” you answer, closing the door behind you.

🔪

Amid the clinking of champagne glasses and the random squeal of the giant engagement ring on your best friend’s finger, you laid in wait for the inevitable question that her mother had begun to lobby in your direction.

“And when can we see you following in our Patrice’s footsteps?” her mother asks, your best friend behind her wincing at the question.

“Not anytime soon,” you promise, lifting your glass to Patrice. “Living vicariously through her soon to be wedded bliss.”

Her mother sighs, turning her attention to the other two single bridesmaids in attendance who answer in a much more hopeful tone than you. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, frequent flier miles to burn through and a hedonistic streak that you aren’t willing to give up.

“She’s not gonna give up you know,” Patrice informs you with a laugh. “Relentless.”

“Yeah but I’ve got her beat. I’m stubborn,” you point out, your eyes homing in on the ring. “Carter really spared no expense on that rock.”

“It’s more than I’m used to,” Patrice admits with a sheepish smile. “You know I’m not into gaudy rings.”

“Whatever. Wear it with pride, you’re worth it. He did good with picking it out.”

Patrice lets out a sigh of relief, drawing you toward her into a hug.

“You gotta thank your dad for letting us have my bridal shower here. I know how much you hate the country club,” Patrice chides you with a small squeeze of her hand on your bare shoulder. “What do you call this place again?”

“Codger’s Paradise,” you murmur before you both break into laughter.

When the champagne hits, you’re halfway out the door to the bathroom to straighten yourself up when a familiar figure passes by that slows their steps.

“Long time no see,” Ransom reminds you, those blue eyes of his snaking down your body. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Called you a few days ago. Wanted to see if you wanted to go to dinner.”

“Been busy. And this is not usually my scene,” you inform him with a slight lift of your shoulders. “Wouldn’t be caught dead around here if it wasn’t for a friend’s bridal shower. Country clubs are more for the old folks. But you seem to be right at home here. Sweater and all.”

Ransom glances down at his sweater and back to you.

“Are you insane? This is a Tom Ford exclusive. And this country club’s membership is more than you could probably afford.”

You lean in, pretending to inspect it as you inhale at his insult.

“Is that Bengay? Or is that Eau de Prison? Did it come with your sweater or was it a gift with purchase?”

You give him a wink as you continue past him, holding in the smile at his irritated face.

🔪

“I think that’s the last of it,” Patrice calls out, closing the trunk of her car that is overflowing with gifts. “Did my eyes deceive me or did I see Ransom Drysdale stalking around there?”

“You did. I guess even prison doesn’t keep him away from this place,” you answer with a roll of your eyes.

“Privilege through and through,” Patrice huffs with her hands on her hips. “Must be nice to have mommy and daddy still support you.”

“From what I heard, it’s just mommy. Dad’s out of the picture since he got caught with his side piece.”

Patrice tilts her head at the news, raising her eyebrow.

“Then my guess is Ransom will follow in his father’s footsteps.”

You scoff at the prediction, looking back at the building that you were elated to be away from.

“Ransom loving someone other than himself? A myth.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you even listening to me?”

You raise an eyebrow at Britt as you ask your question. She is the one bridesmaid that you don’t particularly trust, due to her wandering eye and flirtatiousness. Tonight is no different, watching her curl her lips at every man that walks past that looks good in a suit.

Patrice may have laughed off her tardiness at her bridal shower but the tight smile was a dead giveaway that she had been annoyed. As maid of honor, it was your duty to keep the rest of them in line. With the amount of money you were dropping to make sure this was an experience your best friend would never forget, they needed to know their place.

And you were more than happy to show them.

“I am, I am. I swear,” Britt sighs, her eyes floating back to the bar once more.

You twist your head to see Ransom and a few of his friends, laughing and talking while Britt bats her eyelashes in their direction. It’s obvious she’s interested, you could tell that by how she suddenly adjusted her shirt to show more skin, under the guise of smoothing down the fabric. A rookie move by your calculations. Ransom hadn't seen your stare, nor the roll of your eyes as shot glasses touched across the way before the contents were downed.

“Don’t be desperate,” you mutter, taking a sip of your wine, your attention laser-focused on Britt once more. “We have business to discuss.”

She finally settles in her seat, her mouth pulled into a pout like a toddler. You have better things to do than to tend to her overactive libido.

“The final dress fitting is tomorrow. Patrice is worried you’re going to flake.”

At the mention, Britt finally engages, her eyes filled with worry at the warning in your tone. She knows she’s on thin ice, your protective nature rising to the surface at her carelessness.

You could reduce her down tears with your words easily. She knows as well as you do - that you’re tempering your words for what is to come.

“I know. I was late to the bridal shower-”

“By an hour and a half,” you interrupted.

“I know,” Britt squirms, unable to take the heat of your stare any longer, her fingers raking through her short black hair. “I messed up.”

“You don’t get any more chances. You mess up again and it’s not going to be this nice dinner over a bottle of wine. Patrice needs you there. On time."

Britt downs the last of her drink, straightening up to appear focused.

“I promise,” she assures you. “I will be there.”

“You better. Or I’ll drag you there myself.”

You're aware of the fact that she continues to stare, even after you've paid the waiting bill and are heading toward the door. Britt lingers back as you narrow your eyes at Ransom and then back to her.

"Don't even think about it," you warn her before you push open the door to exit. "I mean it."

🔪

You knock on the door, your arms crossing over your chest while you wait. A sleepy curse is uttered on the other side of the door as you focus your eyes on Ransom once the door opens.

"You son of a bitch," you hiss, blue eyes cascading down your body. "Where is she?"

"Hello to you too, sunshine," Ransom bites back, leaning against the doorway. "Sort of early for you to be all dressed up, isn't it?"

You wish more than anything you could wipe that smug smile off his face, his eyes moving up toward the second floor as he adjusts the tie on his silk robe. It should be a sin to look this good in the morning, the way his tousled hair falls over his forehead.

"Not as good as you were. Not even close," he praises you as you roll your eyes. You don't need his compliments.

"Britt!" you shout, pushing past him as you enter his house, heading straight for the stairs as his laughter follows behind you.

"She's a hot fucking mess," he calls up to you while you continue up the stairs and down the hallway. You should have known better, you tell yourself, phone in hand as you wait for Patrice to call and wonder where you are at. There is not enough patience in the world as you fling open the door to see Britt trying to pull on her dress.

"Really? After the conversation we had about being on time? Embarrassing," you snap, handing her a shoe. "And Ransom of all people?"

"What's wrong with Ransom?" Britt asks, haphazardly trying to slip her foot into her pump.

"Everything," you remind her, helping her up as she stumbles forward. You were hoping to get her cleaned up since the first time she had called you but now there was no time left. You'd try to smooth down her wild hair and fix her smeared makeup once you were in the car.

"Everything okay?" Ransom asks, his tone laced with amusement. "Wild night for you, huh, babe?"

At Ransom's pet name, Britt blushes, pausing for a moment before you give her a short shove.

"Go to the car. Now," you order Britt, her legs stumbling past you with a quick nod.

"Calm down, Commander Panties in a Twist. She's fine."

"You cycling through bridesmaids now? Your own personal bingo card?" You ask, feeling more irritation rise as he laughs.

"Cycling sounds about right. Town bicycle from what it felt like."

You blew out an angry breath. Arguing with Ransom Drysdale was not on your list of things to do but since he was up for it, you were going to indulge him.

"You would know. If she's the town bicycle then you're the town's horse. Everyone's rode you at least once."

"Someone's in a mood. Must be that Fashion Nova jumpsuit."

You point a perfectly manicured finger in his face as you huff at his insult.

"This is a Versace," you bite back, raising an eyebrow at his robe. "Why am I even talking with someone who clearly pulls his nightwear from Blanche Devereaux's closet? Stay away from her, okay? I don't need any more distractions."

Before he has a chance to respond, you head down the stairs, slamming the door behind you as you try to compose yourself. You'd handled self-absorbed assholes before but Ransom seemed to take the mantle.

You smooth down your jumpsuit as you sneer.

He wouldn't know fashion if it bit him in the ass.

🔪

"Scale of one to ten, how mad do you think Patrice is with me?" Britt asks you nervously, gripping onto her flute of champagne.

"Twenty," you respond, uncaring that Britt's face falls as she downs her champagne.

Truthfully, the last thing you are concerned with is Britt's over the top dramatics. Your sole job is to keep her away from Patrice until she can calm down and that is what you plan to do. The walk of shame into the bridal shop seemed much worse when there were various sets of eyes on her, not including your own glare when she gave a heart hearted apology.

Even if you had won the battle with Ransom, you couldn't help but think about the rest of the bridesmaids as they milled around the shop. Had they slept with him too? The fact that the thought had even crossed your mind made you finish your champagne, shaking your head in disgust. Maybe it was a right of passage to sleep with Ransom, you tried to reason. Something about an ex-felon with broad shoulders and tight biceps that could make a woman weak in her knees.

"Ugh," you mutter to yourself. "Fucking Ransom."

You are well aware that you've been heard, the shop girl's eyes widening as you glare at her before she goes back to her task of adjusting the dresses on the hangers.

Patrice makes her grand entrance as your phone vibrates in your hand.

**Ransom**

| _My place. One hour_.

You smirked at the message, ignoring it as you keep your attention on Patrice, who twirls in her dress among the appreciative coos from the group that circled her. You give her an approving nod as your phone buzzes again.

**Ransom**

| _I'll even forgive you for the Golden Girls comment._

You try to stop your laughter as you focus on Patrice. This isn't about him or the fact you can feel the first pangs of desire in your belly. This is about Patrice, who spins in her gown one more time to a captive audience. 

**Ransom**

| _All you gotta do is let me in once you get here._

You let out a low hiss, trying to ignore the want that was pooling in your belly.

Once Patrice disappeared, you found an excuse to leave, already planning to push him onto the floor and have him worship you.

You'd make him kiss your Louboutin pumps, first.


End file.
